Smile
by MorganTerventis
Summary: Modern AU - The thing about emotional abuse is that it's slow. You don't realise what it is for years, you just feel sick, depressed. You begin to shove everyone away until you have nothing. 'The psychologist looked up from her clipboard, brow furrowed and eyes sympathetic.' '"Your father has been emotionally abusing you," she said gently.' DISCLAIMER: Merlin belongs to BBC


Abuse always seems distant, something that would never happen to you. It seems to be that thing on the TV, that thing we all remember on set days than forget the next. Or, perhaps not forget, but put in the backs of our minds. _It's too far, too anonymous, for me to make a difference._ It truly _was_ anonymous, and maybe that was the problem.

Arthur shuddered and rested his head on his bent knee. His other hand held tight to a stick, sharpening it against the rock he sat on with a steady _scrape, scrape, scrape._ His chest was tight, his stomach clenched. His breath came from his mouth in throaty gasps.

 _Emotional abuse. Emotional abuse. Emotional abuse. Emotional abuse._ His brain swirled. Those two damning words throbbing, expanding. He unfolded his legs so they lay out before him. He pressed the tip of the sharpened stick to the taut skin of his thigh. The sharp sting felt good, _so_ good. He bit his lip and dragged down, watching as skin shredding unevenly, leaving a line of torn, white skin. He dragged it up, and down, and up, watching in fascination as blood beaded, the wet skin stung. He considered bringing a knife but to rub the skin off layer by layer hurt far more. He knew that better than most. His hand faltered as his vision blurred and spun.

 _The psychologist looked up from her clipboard, brow furrowed and eyes sympathetic._

" _Your father's been emotionally abusing you," she said gently._

"Dammit," Arthur whispered, bringing a knee up so he could again dig his head into the hard bone. His fingers ached as he grabbed hard to his shin. His other leg burnt and stung equally as the stick dug into his skin at the end of a long cut. He _hated_ himself. Arthur dropped the stick to press his finger to his torn skin. His teeth gritted as it burnt, stinging and piercing like an electric shock to his brain.

 _Useless. Inappropriate for society. Disgrace. Pendragon._

Arthur's breath caught harsh in his throat at that last one. _Pendragon. Pendragon._ He slid from the rock and hit the ground running, pushing his aching leg hard. _Pendragon. Pendragon. Pendragon._ He sped, wishing he could run from that name. He detested it, the thing that connected Arthur to _him._ Trees passed in a blur of green and brown. He closed his eyes, legs moving, thumping beneath him. _Crash!_

"I – I'm sorry," Arthur choked, hands moving to shield his face as he stumbled backwards. He peaked at the women through his fingers. She stood, brushed her blue shirt off and glared at him.

"Stupid boy," she scolded, getting right in Arthur's face, "stupid, idiotic boy." Panic stole Arthur's chest, he shoved at the old women.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he gasped. A dog yapped at him, snapping at his heels. _There wasn't enough air._ Breath squalled in his throat as he tried to get more. He ran, stumbling. Reaching his mother's house had never been more relieving. He slammed the door open and ran to lie on the lounge, struggling to calm his breathing. His fingers twitched, nails begging to bite into the skin, bring back the calm pain brought. Arthur gritted his teeth and resisted, staring determinedly at the ceiling.

"Love," his mother stood at the end of the lounge, hand hovering over his legs. He was glad she refrained from touching, "I am sorry. So, so, sorry." Arthur pulled a smile on his features. The unused muscles pulled and strained, the joyful movement so fake it pained him.

"He's gone now, mother. That's all that matters." Ygraine gave him a weak smile and walked away. Arthur ran to his room, grabbing his phone from the bedside table.

"I'm not handling this well," he muttered, grip on his phone so tight it made his bones ache. "I'm not handling, I'm not handling." He unlocked his phone and went to his contacts.

 _Elyan  
Gwaine  
Guinevere  
Lancelot  
Leon  
Mithian  
Morgana  
Percival_

He sighed and shook his head, falling back onto his pillow. Like gold from the ground, hopelessness hollowed him, leaving him black, empty, abandoned. He had no friends, _no one_. He was only weird depressed kid that fell far from his place at the top. _I did it for them,_ he insisted weakly, _they would have hated what I truly was._ He didn't move when the sun set, leaving his room in darkness. He didn't move when the sun rose and his room turned golden. He stared broken, numb. He turned his left hand on his chest, using his right thumb nail to dig the skin from the inside of his wrist. He picked at it until it was an inch long, stinging, burning, ten times worse than all the ones on his thigh.

Arthur pressed a finger into the cut, hissing as it stung sharp, sending searing pain prickling up his arm. Still he smiled, relieved in some sick way that he could feel.

When his alarm shrieked for school Arthur hadn't even closed his eyes.

He clutched his wrist to his chest as he dressed slowly, pulling his black shorts carefully over the cuts. He inspected the wound. It was a crescent shape, clear fluid dribbled from it, beading and pooling in the little ditch he'd dug in his skin. He swung his bag on his back and walked to the door.

"Bye honey!" Arthur forced a smile on his features.

"Bye," he waved. The door shut with a gentle click behind him. Arthur felt none of the nerves that should accompany starting at a new school. He only felt… detached.

Done with… everything. It scared him slightly, that he wasn't quite sure what that meant, because he couldn't deny nearly giving up; holding a blade to his chest or his wrists, or gazing at the medicine cabinet more than he should. He tried to grab the straps of his backpack but flinched as his left wrist bent over the wound`. He heard someone walking toward him, Arthur's head snapped up. A boy gave him a nervous grin, his pale hand tugged at his black hair.

"Hi, I'm Merlin," he waved. Arthur startled, _this boy actually_ _looked_ _, at him. Genuinely wanted to_ _talk_ _to him._

"A – Arthur," Arthur gasped, thrusting a hand out. Merlin chuckled and shook it. Merlin grabbed left his wrist gently, he ran a gentle, cold finger over the swollen, red skin surrounding the wound. Arthur drew a sharp breath. He yanked his arm back, shoulders hunching, bracing himself for rejection.

"My parents used to beat me," Merlin said softly. Arthur was overcome with emotion.

"It's so difficult," Arthur said hoarsely, "because you can't stop loving them."

"And you want so badly to hate them," Merlin added.

"But instead you hate yourself for wanting to."

"And sometimes," Merlin said, laughing just a bit hysterically, "you scream at the universe for making the person meant to love you, ruin love for you forever."

"Yes," Arthur said softly, his lip curled in a small, real smile, and the beginnings of laughter rumbling in his chest.

 _He wasn't alone._

This was quite hard for me to write. It actually happened to me. Abuse is quite a horrible thing, especially when it's thrown in your face so suddenly, even when you don't realise it for what it is it can still destroy you. Change Merlin to James and you've got someone who's quickly becoming my greatest friend. It's… nice to realise you're not entirely alone.

It is rather impossible to explain the destructive mind field, the panic as you search for someone and realise you don't have a single person to talk to. How to explain the pure anxiety, when it gets to the point that your fingers twitch and you need to kick something or slam your head repeatedly into a wall.

But I hope I did an okay rush job.

If this is happening to you;

 **Get help**

 **Scream at me in the comments, it truly works. I understand completely if you have nothing good to say.**

 **Don't be silent like I was, it led to being suicidal from a very young age, trust me, you** **need** **people on your side.**


End file.
